A Thin Line Between Love and Hate
by Soliloquy005
Summary: Antonio is left alone at the events of Merchant of Venice without anyone to love. He finds comfort in an unlikely source. Antonio/Shylock.


**A Thin Line Between Love and Hate**

**By RC**

**Disclaimer**: The Bard wrote them. I just bring them out to play.

**A/N**: So I was looking through my writing from last year, and found this piece (although I don't remember writing it). Apparently I wrote it after reading _The Merchant of Venice_ in my Honors Lit class and was inspired by the story of Antonio/Bassanio. But since that obviously didn't happen, I wrote this. Also, this doesn't resemble the movie at all. I always imaged Antonio rather young, and Bassanio a few years older. Shylock is the same age he was in the movie. So yeah. Reviews appreciated.

o-o-o-o

**Antonio**

I suppose I should have known that he didn't return my affections. For years I tried to let him know, dropping innuendo in almost every conversation, letting him know I wanted him using my body for his pleasure. When he was nineteen, wild and reckless, I lent him money whenever he came asking, knowing my fortune inherited from my late merchant father would please him. He spent my money impulsively, never thanking me once for what I sacrificed for him. I see now that it was naïve of me to put my love for him before everything.

I was too blinded by my love for him to see that he was using me.

My dear Bassanio…

Why should have that fateful day been any different? The day he came to me asking me for money to woo the fair Portia in Belmont? The day I borrowed money from Venice's most ruthless moneylender, Shylock. The day Bassanio put his happiness before my safety. The day that I put my life on the line, praying that he might return my affections before his wedding day.

He didn't of course. He returned to Venice from Belmont to try and save my life, but was outdone by an incognito Portia, who had saved me only to send me away, far away, with the message that I was never to set eyes on her husband again, for it was unnatural and I was foolish for believing that he might leave her for me.

Her cruel words sent me to the arms of someone I would have never expected. A man who gave me the love I craved, the love Bassanio would have never have given me.

"There's a thin line between love and hate," Shylock had whispered in my ear before he put his mouth on mine for the first time.

I sigh now, leaning against the metal railing on the balcony, shivering in the cool winter air. Now that I found the love of my life, I am reluctant to dwell on the past. But isn't it natural to remember the man who teased and spurned you?

I'm sure the tears in my eyes aren't from the cold. I can't think of Bassanio anymore, not without feeling the sting of his rejection. My breath hitches as I fight back my tears.

"Antonio…"

Shylock places a hand on my shoulder, urging me back inside the house and down onto the bed. "You'll catch your death out there," he scolds, his newfound affection for me evident in his tone.

"Tell me again," I plead, resting my head on my lover's shoulder.

Shylock cards his fingers though my tangled hair. "I love you," he says quietly.

I lay back, my head resting against the pillow. Shylock follows me, covering my lithe body with his larger frame. His thumb ghosts over my lower lip. "You're so young," he says, caressing my cheek.

"I'm twenty four," I remind him, kissing the fingers he presses to my lips.

Shylock kisses me, slow and sweet, reminding me whom I belong to. He sucks on my lower lip, before running his tongue across my teeth, asking for entrance. I open my mouth eagerly; kissing back enthusiastically as his tongue explores my palate. When he releases my mouth, we're both gasping for air. Shylock brushes a stray lock of hair away from my face and places his lips chastely on my forehead.

"My angel," he murmurs. "My sweet, abused angel."

He holds me close, muttering soft assurances in my ear as the tears I fought back earlier stream down my face. "Shh, shh, angel… Hush now…"

"Why didn't Bassanio love me back?" I sob helplessly.

Shylock stiffens, but doesn't stop rubbing comforting circles on my back. "He's a fool."

"I loved him! I g-gave up e-everything for h-him…"

Shylock lets out a breath and takes hold of my chin. "Look at me, Antonio."

I look at him.

"I wouldn't have really hurt you, you know that, right?"

I nod, although I'm not sure how much I believed him. He definitely seemed ready to cut out my heart in that courtroom…on the day that I realized Bassanio wouldn't save me.

"Antonio…please believe that I wouldn't have hurt you. Maybe one day you'll really believe that."

I snuggle closer to Shylock's warm body. "I love you."

Shylock brushes his lips against the top of my head. "I know."

I close my eyes, and let myself drift off into sleep, Shylock's arms wrapped possessively around me.

**Shylock**

Antonio's deep breathing altered Shylock that his young lover was indeed sound asleep. Shylock hated seeing Antonio in pain, it made his heart ache. Over the last few months, Antonio had seemed to have moved on, but every so often he would break down and need Shylock's gentle assurances of love. Every tear Antonio shed over Bassanio made the ex-moneylender hate the man more and more. He hated that Bassanio would take advantage of Antonio's devotion, and that he would send his wife to deliver the coup de grace and break Antonio's heart forever. A drunken Antonio had stumbled upon Shylock in a dark alley, pleading for Shylock to end the pain, to take the pound of flesh he had demanded earlier and as much blood as he pleased. But Shylock had found he hadn't the heart too. He saw so much of himself reflected in the merchant. He knew what it was like to love another so fiercely that you would die for them, only to have your affections spurned. Leah…that was her name. She had spent one night with him, then nine months later, she handed him Jessica and that turquoise ring, and had left.

Over the last few weeks, Shylock had lost his money, his land, his religion, and his daughter, but had gained the last thing he had ever expected: a lover.

"We outsiders should stick together," he had hissed into Antonio's ear as he hauled the drunken merchant into his home. He watched over the young man that night while he slept, and soon discovered that there really was a thin line between love and hate. And Shylock loved Antonio.

And hated Bassanio.

He wanted that bastard to stop writing to his lover.

Bassanio kept sending letters, almost every week now. Shylock had read each one, furious at Bassanio's sudden desire to now accept Antonio's love. So what if Bassanio and Portia's marriage wasn't working? Bassanio had had years to return Antonio's obvious feelings and he chose to break the latter's heart _then_ try to woo him? It wasn't going to happen. Shylock wouldn't let it happen.

"You're mine," he said fiercely into the night.

Antonio hummed something in his sleep and stirred. Shylock quickly lowered his voice. "You're mine, Antonio. Mine to protect, mine to comfort, mine to have, mine to use. _Mine!_"

Shylock watched in silence as his lover slumbered on. As the old grandfather clock struck twelve, Shylock threw Bassanio's letters that he had been clutching in his hands into the fire. "I never needed that pound of flesh to make you mine," Shylock said as Bassanio's hurried script burned. "I only needed your heart. You made me human, Antonio; you made me love again. Let me help you, angel, let me save you like you saved me."


End file.
